


A Life More Ordinary

by TARDISTraveller42



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Happy, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 09:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15531444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TARDISTraveller42/pseuds/TARDISTraveller42
Summary: A series of oneshots about the Doctor living the life he never thought he could: no aliens, no time travel, no do or die. Just he and his friends making the ordinary look extraordinary.





	1. Chapter 1

5 More Minutes

When the Doctor burst into Clara’s flat, bounding from the TARDIS doorway like a frightened cat, the first thing he noticed was how unlike Clara’s flat it was. The schoolteacher usually kept an immaculate household: Plates were washed just after supper; shoes were slipped into designated cubbies; pillows were fluffed and set onto the couch as neatly as one would find in a magazine.

But today, as the Doctor shut the door slowly behind him, his eye caught many troubling little things that sent alarms blaring. Dishes sat out, half of the food uneaten; clothes lay scattered across the floor and on top of furniture.

The most troubling thing of all, however, was the state in which the Doctor found Clara herself.

Her eyes stared blankly at the wall as she unconsciously swirled the cold tea in her cup. She was curled up on the sofa when the Doctor found her, wearing joggers and an empty look. When he came blundering into the room, knocking the cluttered coffee table with a clumsy knee, she hardly even looked up.

“Clara?” He asked, his muscles turning to stone. 

He’d worked hard in the past few months to be better at this; more open, more vulnerable, more ready to hug and be hugged. But she was scaring him. His brave companion, usually made of optimism and light, seemed utterly deflated.

Her head turned up to him, holding his stare at last. She gave him a fraction of a smile before she looked down at the floor. The Doctor stepped forward, and then hesitated.

“Are you okay?”

Her eyes brightened at his question, perhaps happy that he had asked her at all. 

“I…” she started. “I need more than five minutes today.”

Her voice, so small, so unsure, so...un-Clara, froze the Doctor to the spot.

He shuffled from foot to foot. 

“Danny,” he said; a statement and a question.

Clara blinked and turned back to the floor. The Doctor registered a small nod from her head.

Her fingers picked at the cushions, lips trembling just slightly.

“Tea!” 

The word burst from his lips before he could stop it.

“What?” Clara’s jaw dropped dumbly, eyes sparkling as they met the Doctor’s. His face turned pink.

“You need some fresh tea. Hold on.”

He held up a finger and dashed into the kitchen as Clara tried not to roll her eyes.

“Doctor…”

She stopped herself, unsure of what she even wanted to tell him. He was trying, at least. That was all she could ask for. So instead, she shut her eyes and leaned back on her pillows, letting out a deep sigh.

Five minutes later, the Doctor came back into the room balancing two mugs and a tin of biscuits in his hands. Clara shoved a few books off of the coffee table to make room and then sat up, straightening out her black tank top. 

“Thank you,” she said with a quick smile. Her eyes met his for just a moment before he held up another finger.

“Forgot something.”

He hurried back into the kitchen, spinning around the tiny space. “Where is it, where is it…?”

His eye caught a box of Cheerios and he smiled. “Ah.”

The Doctor pulled the box out of the way and reached back until his hand found a small rectangle, well wrapped up. He brought the chocolate bar out with a smile and went back into the lounge. 

Clara was seated upright now, her hands wrapped around her steaming mug. He held up the chocolate bar with a smirk.

“Brought you a present.”

Clara gave him her first genuine smile of the night and patted the spot beside her.

“Have a seat.”

The Doctor sat beside her, still a little stiff and uncomfortable. Clara picked up her mug and chuckled. “I promise I don’t bite.”

“I know,” he said simply, watching her with a careful eye. When she next set down her mug, he picked up his.

They stayed silent for a few minutes, drinking their tea, before Clara set hers back on the coffee table again and leaned back into the sofa. Her eyes held that darkness that made them look older than the rest of her body. Carefully, the Doctor put his mug on the table beside hers.

“Clara?” He asked in a timid voice.

Suddenly the floodgates open. Clara shut her eyes as the tears fell down her cheeks. She covered her mouth to stifle a sob.

A moment later, she swallowed and took in a shaky breath.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

“No, Clara,” the Doctor said, shifting closer to her. Without any hesitation or awkwardness, he rubbed her upper arm. “Don’t apologize.”

Clara touched a small hand to his arm and he couldn’t stop himself anymore. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to his chest, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

Clara gripped his sleeve and cried softly against his chest. He felt the fabric of his shirt dampen near her face, but didn’t shy away from her. Instead, he sank deeper into the sofa and adjusted their positions to be more comfortable.

They sat like that for many minutes, Clara’s face nuzzled up to the Doctor’s chest. Her fingers grabbed weakly at his jacket lapel like a small child. The Doctor rubbed her back and didn’t dare let go until she did first.

When they next were seated upright, Clara wiped at her eyes in vain. Her face was bright pink, eyes red, nose still watering. The mascara she had applied so carefully that morning was washed down her face in thick rivers.

The Doctor thought she looked beautiful.

“Clara,” he said, unsure how he wanted to continue. He swallowed when she looked up.

“You don’t have to...you can take more than five minutes sometimes. For as long as you need to.”

Clara sniffed and cleared her throat. “I promised him I wouldn’t.”

The Doctor’s lip quirked into a sad smile. “Did I ever tell you about River Song?”

Clara sat up straighter, leaning her head on her hand with her elbow propped up on the sofa. 

“Not properly.”

The Doctor bit his lip. “I’ve...I’ve been mourning her ever since I met her. Time travel…it’s fantastic. But sometimes it contains spoilers.”

He paused at that word, a sadness entering his eyes that made Clara pay close attention. 

“The day we met was the day she…” He looked at the floor. “Was the day she died. And then we met again, only she was younger. We keep seeing each other in the wrong order.”

Clara opened her mouth to make a comment, but the look on the Doctor’s face took the words out of her mouth.

“She’s...she’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had. And she’s, well, my wife. But she’s also a ghost to me. And a reminder that I failed to save her. It could be any day now. The next time I see her will probably be the...last.”

The Doctor’s eyes were red now, bright with tears. He took in a shaky breath and then looked up and shook his head.

“Look at me, making this all about me. Sorry.”

Clara put a hand on his arm.

“No, Doctor, don’t be sorry. God,” she breathed. “Come here.”

This time, the tables turned. Clara cradled his head in her hand and pulled him toward herself, holding him close. She heard him sniff a few times beside her ear, cold droplets of tears falling onto her neck.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” she said, rocking him back and forth. 

“She died to save me.” His voice was thick and watery.

Clara shushed him gently. 

“Then she’s a brave woman and I thank her a million times. But you do not blame yourself. What she did, she did because of who she is and what she chose to do. Not because of who you are or what you chose to do.”

Clara pulled away so that she could see his face. Soft lines of tears tracked down his cheeks. His eyes still shined, red-rimmed, but he seemed like he was calming.

Clara held his face in between her hands.

“Doctor, look at me. You are every bit worth saving. You don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. Clara let her lips start the beginnings of a smile. When he looked like he wasn’t about to break down again, Clara let go of him.

“Okay. Now I’m going to go make us some more tea and we’re going to sit here and read Jane Austen together, alright?”

The Doctor nodded silently, wiping at his eyes. His face already looked much lighter; like he wasn’t carrying the weight of the world anymore.

“And maybe later we’ll watch a sappy romantic comedy and eat some popcorn. How does that sound?”

“Good,” the Doctor murmured.

Clara squeezed his knee one last time and then went to the kitchen, cleaning herself up before getting their night-in set up. 

Meanwhile, the Doctor sat stunned on the sofa, tears dried and chest much lighter. While Clara was in the other room fixing he tea, he wiped his face in his sleeve.

. . .

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,” the Doctor read aloud. He peered over the old copy of Pride and Prejudice to look at Clara, seated on the other end of the sofa. She had set her legs up beside her and held the mug in both of her hands. 

They shared a smile. 

And two grieving people spent the rest of the evening not shouldering heavy burdens, but acting out scenes from a nineteenth century novel and sipping tea and wine.

And it was one of the best nights either of them had ever enjoyed together.


	2. A Winter's Day

A Winter’s Day

The Doctor sat at a desk in front of the window, using the natural light to finish marking some essays. It was a bright day; the sky was white as the paper he wrote on, and snow fell gently down, blanketing over the entire campus. In the morning, they had weathered a blizzard, filled with toppling trees and gale-force winds. But now that it had calmed, the weather outside was almost pleasant.

Especially since all classes at the university had been cancelled for the day.

The Doctor smiled to himself as he watched various groups of students wander down the snow-covered paths. Some helped the maintenance staff shovel while others went off into the quad to build a snowman family. It was pure delight; young, typically stressed out people finally able to relax and enjoy themselves.

The Doctor took a sip of tea and leaned back into his seat. He wore three layers today to keep out the cold, topped off with one of his favorite coats made of black velvet. 

His lips quirked as he remembered the story of how he’d acquired the coat. It was a bet of some kind, on a distant planet he was visiting with Nardole. They’d run into some trouble and almost been eaten by a sentient tree, but it was worth it for the laughs...and the coat. Nardole hadn’t thought so, but the Doctor couldn’t recall Nardole ever finding the adventure worth the risk.

The Doctor tilted his head and took another sip of tea. Then he heard a familiar knock on the door. Bill’s ‘excited’ knock, which she only reserved for TARDIS trips or handing in essays she knew would get a good mark. 

The Doctor spun his seat around just in time to watch her dart into the room, shutting the door swiftly behind her.

“Hello,” he said, smiling above his steaming mug. 

“Hey,” she responded with a wide smile. “A bunch of us are going to have a snowball fight.”

The Doctor nodded. “Sounds fun. You should enjoy yourself. Take the day off.”

Bill’s lips quirked down. “Oh, I was actually wondering if you wanted to join us.”

The Doctor paused for a moment. Then he fumbled with his tea and set it back on the desk.

“Oh, well, er...I’m actually pretty busy today.”

“Liar,” Bill said flatly, a suspicious look in her eye and her small grin.

The Doctor turned back to his desk.

“No, really, I’m marking papers. Got loads to catch up on.”

Bill put her hands on her hips. “You’re not marking. You’re drinking tea.”

“And...marking,” the Doctor said, gesturing to the paper in front of him.

Bill pursed her lips. 

“Alright,” her singsong voice chirped. “But just so you know, Nardole’s already joined us. And basically everyone from the canteen.”

“Enjoy yourselves.”

Bill started toward the door slowly. Two steps later, she spun around again. “And we have hot cocoa. Just saying. And a whole fort we’re setting up, so…”

“Okay. Okay.” 

The Doctor stood and approached her, the tea and marking forgotten. 

Bill’s eyes widened in mock surprise.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To, er, join you,” the Doctor stammered.

Bill's eye twinkled. “I thought you were super busy.”

The Doctor sighed, closing his eyes.

“Can I join your snowball fight?”

Bill raised her eyebrows.

“Please,” he added.

Bill’s smile widened.

“Of course. Get your mittens on, though. It’s freezing outside.”

Bill tore off into the hallway and back downstairs. When her blue poofy jacket was out of sight, the Doctor went over to his closet. 

First he grabbed a scarf, much shorter and subdued than he was used to, and then a pair of black gloves he’d once worn on Mars. As he tied the scarf around his neck, he looked over at the pile of marking still left on his desk. With a grimace, he disappeared from the room, promising to do his work when he got back.

He knew already that it wasn’t going to happen.

. . .

The field was blindingly white. Snow covered every inch of grass, every rooftop, and every tree limb. The only things that weren’t absolutely covered in snow were the two groups of students working on opposite ends of the playing grounds. 

Both teams were busy building their own fortress, made entirely of ice and snow. A few members of each side padded snow in their hands, forming snowballs. The Doctor glanced from one side to the other until Bill came jogging over from the left team.

“We’re about to get started,” she explained, leading him over to their ‘base’. “Do you want to make snowballs, throw them, or help maintain the fortress?”

“You’ve really got this figured out, haven’t you?”

A woman who was crouched down stacking big snow piles against the fortress chuckled. “This is what we do in the winter, Doctor.”

A boy in the Doctor’s Physics class, Kevin, looked up from his snowball making with a grin. 

“Oh, the Doctor’s on our side? That’s awesome.”

Bill put an arm around the Doctor.

“Well, he is my granddad. Couldn’t let him join the enemy,” she said. 

The Doctor smiled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest.

“Where’s Nardole?” He asked a moment later.

Bill grit her teeth.

“With the enemy. Said it wasn’t personal. There’s a guy on that team he’s got a crush on, I think. Wants to impress him.”

“Nardole?” The Doctor scoffed. “Impress?”

Bill shrugged. 

Kevin stood with his latest snowball and turned to them.

“Positions!” He shouted.

Players darted around, snatching up snowballs and ducking beneath the fort. Bill pulled the Doctor to the stash of snowballs and handed him one.

“Can you throw from here?”

The Doctor nodded. “I think so.”

“Cool. We’ll stay here, and then,” she lowered her voice, “when Kevin gives the signal, we run up at them, full charge.”

The Doctor nodded. “Got it.”

Bill gave Kevin a thumbs up, and he raised his fist in the air.

“Fire!”

The fight commenced. 

Snowballs soared from both sides of the pitch, most landing somewhere in the middle. The Doctor and Bill joined the fray, tossing snowballs from the stash beside them as quickly but as accurately as possible. Only when one of the opposing side’s snowballs pelted into the tower in front of them did they check on the rest of their team.

“Kevin!” Bill called. The boy ducked behind the safety of the wall and then looked over. “Our tower is getting hit pretty badly.”

Kevin examined the crumbling pile of snow in front of the Doctor and Bill. He bit his lip and then glanced across the field.

“Okay,” he said. “CHARGE!”

With that, half of their team jumped up and sprinted forward, right onto the middle of the pitch. Most of the front line was hit instantly with snow, becoming almost yeti-like by the time they reached the opposite side. 

The Doctor stood, but Bill grabbed his arm. 

“Wait.” She handed him two fresh snowballs and then grabbed three of her own. “Okay. Ready?”

The Doctor smirked, a twinkle in his eye. “Bill, you should know by now. I’m always…”

A wild snowball suddenly careened directly into the Doctor’s cheek, throwing him off balance with a cry of shock. 

Bill whirled around.

“Nardole!”

“Sorry!” The cyborg squeaked, holding his hands up in surrender and wearing a deeply set grimace. “I was aiming for the tower.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to the Doctor. He was bent over with a hand on his face, blinking the stars out of his eyes.

“Are you okay?” She asked, putting a hand on his back.

His shaky fingers wiped the snow off of his face and he gave her a quick nod.

“Yeah; fine I think,” he said, straightening himself.

Nardole stepped timidly into their base. 

“Rule one, Nardole,” Bill said sternly.

“No headshots. I know. I’m sorry.”

She lightened up at his tone, turning worried eyes back to the Doctor.

“It’s alright,” the Doctor assured. His face was still bright pink and a small scratch lined his cheek, but other than that he seemed fine. He even smiled softly. “Missed my eye, at least.”

Nardole nodded, and then shivered at the thought. “Maybe I should hand in my snowball fighting mittens.”

Bill put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath to calm herself. The Doctor gave her a reassuring smile. 

“Bill, I’m alright. Just gave me a little shock is all.”

“Okay,” she said tightly. 

Then she relaxed her shoulders and turned to Nardole. 

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have shouted. Bit protective of this one these days,” she said, nudging the Doctor with her shoulder. “Ever since…”

She looked down at the crunchy snow beneath her feet. None of them had to say a word. They all knew she was referring to chasm forge. The day none of them thought they’d make it out alive. The day the Doctor saved her life by sacrificing himself. 

The day the Doctor lost his sight and didn’t tell her for weeks.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Nardole said, breaking the icy silence. “Let’s go get some cocoa and sit inside, eh? Let the students finish this battle.”

The Doctor rubbed his cheek one last time. “Sounds like a plan.”

“An excellent plan,” Bill added.

. . . . .

In the light of the fireplace in the lounge beneath the Doctor’s office, the trio sat drinking out of mugs as large as their faces. The Doctor’s feet were propped up on the ottoman in front of the sofa he and Nardole were sat on. Beside them, Bill sat propped up against a few pillows on the floor closer to the fire. In between sips of cocoa, she leaned her head on the Doctor’s side of the sofa, close to his lap.

The Doctor carefully set his cocoa on the side table and rested his hand on Bill’s shoulder. Her jumper was still a little damp from the snow. 

“You should get some dry clothes on,” he said. “Don’t want you catching a chill.”

Bill smiled. “You don’t actually have to act like my granddad.”

The Doctor paused for a moment. In a softer voice, he said, “I like to.”

She turned up to him, her smile brightening. Then she noticed Nardole, sat staring into his cocoa mug. He wore a frown, and a look in his eye told her he was deep in thought.

“Nardole? You’re being quiet tonight.”

He swirled his cocoa and shrugged. “Not much to say.”

Bill curled her lips.

“Did you ever meet up with that bloke who was supposed to be on your team?”

Nardole’s cheeks flushed redder than the Doctor’s had earlier.

“Er, yes. He...he was making snowballs.”

The Doctor smirked. 

“Did he make the one you pelted at my head?”

Nardole sighed and rolled his eyes, but Bill caught the hint of guilt that flashed across his face.

“No, actually. That one was all me, I’m afraid.”

Nardole took a big sip of cocoa and then set it on the table. Suddenly he seemed unable to sit still, rubbing his hands together and adjusting the way he was seated. First he crossed one leg over the other, then switched it up.

The Doctor watched him carefully, and then shared a knowing glance with Bill.

“Nardole?” He said. “You know I’m not actually cross with you.”

Nardole nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it without a sound. He repeated the action a few times before vocalizing it.

“It doesn’t mean I’m not cross with myself.”

The Doctor sat up straighter, as did Bill.

“I’m fine,” the Doctor said. “It wasn’t a big deal, Nardole. Seriously.”

Nardole looked at his hands. 

“It’s not just that. Well, sort of. I don’t know. We were having a good time till I went and ruined it. Seems to happen a lot.” He folded his hands together. “I’m the killjoy of this little gang of ours.”

Bill rested her arm on the sofa and gave Nardole an intent stare.

“You’re not a killjoy,” she said. “And you’re almost always the one keeping us safe. Without you, we’d probably be lost on some planet right now. Or worse.”

“Probably worse,” the Doctor added.

Nardole smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I didn’t do much ‘keeping you safe’ today. Almost blinded the Doctor.”

The Doctor waved him off.

“Give me some credit. I am a Timelord. We can handle a bit more than a handful of snow.”

Nardole finally seemed to lighten up, relaxing tense shoulders. “I suppose so.”

Bill stood with her mug.

“Anyone else need a top up?”

The other two shook their heads, murmuring ‘no thank yous’ as Bill disappeared into the next room. The Doctor sat back and looked into the fire. An unconscious smile played at his lips. 

He had his friends. He had hot cocoa on a cold winter’s day. 

Why had he ever thought he needed all of time and space to be happy?


	3. Faculty Football

Chapter 3  
Faculty Football

“Are you sure about this, Doctor?”

How many times had he heard that sentence? From companions, from silly investigators, from scared villagers. It always ended fine, didn’t it? He had only regenerated eleven...twelve...okay, thirteen times in his life. That was a pretty outstanding survival rate, in his opinion. 

But Bill Potts seemed unimpressed, as he flattened out the front his new football kit, looking himself up and down in the mirror. By the look she was giving him, she was more worried now than all of the times he had literally risked his life on their TARDIS adventures. 

“I have done this before, Bill. It was a long time ago, but I’m sure I still remember.”

“‘It was a long time ago’ is exactly what I’m talking about, granddad.”

He usually loved it when she called him that. But this time, she seemed to inject some sarcasm into the word. That made it a bit less appealing.

“2000 is practically college age for Timelords. If anything, I should be calling you Nan.”

“Okay, but seriously don’t do that,” Bill said sternly. She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying...you need to be careful. You’ve got the Vault, and all of our trips out. You don’t want to pull your hamstring or something.”

The Doctor turned to her, a confident look in his eye.

“I appreciate the concern, Bill. But I once played Jagga Ball with a bunch of Judoon. Imagine walking rhinos playing rugby with a ball that has spikes on it.”

Bill blinked a few times to picture that game. Then she followed the Doctor out of the TARDIS, where he’d fled in her confusion.

“I hope you know I’ll be cheering for the other team as well,” she said with a smirk. “My mate Eric from the canteen is on that team.”

The Doctor turned back with mock betrayal on his face.

“You’re rooting for Eric? He can’t even make a decent hamburger.”

Bill nudged his shoulder, but they smiled it off. 

The football pitch was packed with students and professors. They’d certainly done a good job advertising the Faculty Match this year. The weather was perfect, too. Sunny and cool, with just a few wispy white clouds in the sky.

Bill found a seat by Nardole, a few rows above the grass of the field and right near a staircase in case they wanted to run up for snacks. Or run onto the pitch in the case of a victory. 

Overall, the atmosphere was absolutely perfect. The Doctor still looked ridiculous, in Bill’s opinion; standing there in a bright orange football kit with shin guards he got from who-knows-where. Not to mention the eight other guys on his team who were all half his age. 

Bill shook her head with a smile. At least he looked like he was having fun.

And that he knew what he was doing.

As soon as the whistle blew and the game started, the Doctor swooped in and stole the ball from the other team, Eric in particular. He raced down the field, swerving around a few other defenders before passing it perfectly through one of their legs to a teammate. Nardole cheered loudly, but Bill merely grinned in shock.

He’d never told her he was secretly a football star.

The game continued in a similar fashion. The Doctor and his team seemed to dominate the field, stealing the ball swiftly and then passing it off like they could read each other’s minds. The Doctor scored once, and got an assist soon after; all within the first half.

As the teams went to their respective benches for halftime, Bill walked down to the lowest row and handed the Doctor his water bottle.

“I didn’t know you could play sports,” she stated. “Thought you were more of a book guy.”

“I tried to tell you, Bill,” he said in between sips of water. “I’ve a trophy collection in the TARDIS we can check out later.”

She gave him a little shove as he handed his water back.

“Don’t be a show-off about it,” she said with a smile. 

He returned the smile, and then jogged back to the field. 

Bill looked at the other bench, where she found the opposing team rather deflated. Eric, especially, looked so different from when they’d worked together serving chips. He looked angry; like he wanted to punch something. 

“You guys are still in this!” Bill called out. 

Eric didn’t smile back.

The second half started, with just a little less energy than the first. The Doctor took the ball from Eric, again, almost instantly. He took it down the field quickly, but somehow kept a tight control on it. He swerved past a defender, then another. 

But as he ran, Bill noticed, Eric was making his way toward him. Running full out, the younger man was gaining on him. Ten meters away. Then five. Then three.

Bill called out with a smile, “Watch out, Doctor!”

And then Eric did something she hadn’t planned for. He slid, hard, knocking the Doctor down from behind. They crashed to the ground in a jumble of limbs as the referee blew piercing tones with her whistle.

The referee pulled Eric to the side as the game paused. But the Doctor was still on the ground, face buried in his arm. Nardole rested his hand on Bill’s, and then made eye contact with her.

They shared frown. Then ran as fast as they could down the steps and onto the pitch.

“Doctor, you alright?” Nardole asked.

The Doctor was still on his side, one hand clamped tightly around his left ankle. His face was still nestled in the crook of his other arm, and he was breathing rather harshly.

Bill went to his front and gently placed a hand on his arm.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Ankle,” he said shakily.

Nardole pried his hand away and prodded the bone as lightly as he could. The Doctor still emitted a gasp of pain, which Bill shushed quietly.

“Want us to get the nurse?”

The Doctor shook his head firmly at that, removing his head from his arm. Some grass stuck in his hair, and a few small scratches lined his cheek.

Bill grimaced, and rubbed his arm warmly.

“Okay. We’ll get you to the bench.”

Carefully, they maneuvered the Doctor onto both of their shoulders. Whatever swear words the Doctor murmured weren’t translated properly, but Bill could guess what he was saying. She gave him a reassuring smile as they started toward the bench.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bill heard the audience clapping. 

“Nardole, can you go get some ice from the snack place?” Bill asked, adjusting how she held the Doctor.

He ran off as quickly as he could.

Bill acted as the Doctor’s crutch the remaining distance to the bench, and then sat beside him.

“You okay?”

He nodded, though he seemed very pale and his breathing still gave away his pain.

Bill rubbed circles on his back, looking out for Nardole. When he returned a minute later, he looked like he was carrying Antarctica and the contents of an entire hospital.

“Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation,” Nardole recited. “I thought humans just really liked to eat rice when they were injured.”

That brought a small smile back to the Doctor’s face. Until Nardole set an ice pack on his ankle.

“Sorry, sir. Doctor’s orders. Well, no actually. Nardole’s orders.” He sat back and rifled through the rest of his loot. “You just sit still and don’t try and move too much. And you’re definitely not going on any TARDIS trips this week.”

He said this last bit with a pointed finger and an unblinking stare. The Doctor gave his own glare right back, but it wasn’t quite as effective when he was wearing a dirty football kit and wincing in pain.

“Okay,” Nardole sighed. “I’m gonna get your cleat off so we can get a proper look.”

Bill took the Doctor’s hand in her own, letting him squeeze as Nardole worked his shoe and sock off. When Nardole started feeling around his ankle again, the Doctor shut his eyes and groaned.

“It’s not broken,” Nardole said calmly. “Just sprained. Definitely no running this week.”

“Aww,” Bill said with a playful smirk. “I’m gonna miss the penguin run.”

The Doctor’s lips quirked.

“I don’t run like a penguin,” he murmured. “Maybe a gazelle…”

“Wait, hold on,” Bill said, turning back to Nardole. “How did you learn all this stuff?”

“Nardole!” A voice called from beside the bench. It was an older woman, carrying a small medical kit. The nurse, Bill figured. Looking incredibly too happy.

“You’ve learned so fast!” She cried with a smile. 

Nardole’s cheeks turned pink.

“Our dates are paying off, I see,” she said. 

Nardole’s cheeks turned red this time.

“Doctor, how are you feeling?” the nurse asked, crouching down beside Nardole.

“Perfectly fine,” he said with an obviously fake smile. He winced halfway through the sentence, but the nurse didn’t seem to notice. 

She simply patted Nardole’s shoulder and walked off.

“Looks like you’re in good hands already. You’ve checked for breaks…?”

“Of course, Rita. First thing,” Nardole said proudly. He shied away when he noticed Bill’s close eye.

“You’re a star, Nardole.”

She went off, satisfied. Bill, on the other hand, was anything but.

“So...Rita.”

“Don’t,” Nardole said sternly, focusing back on the Doctor’s injury. He sighed. “Okay...we’ve been having breakfast dates. Only she keeps taking me to the nurse’s office and teaching me things. I think she just wants an apprentice or something.”

Bill wasn’t satisfied with that either.

“Alright,” Nardole continued with a smile. “She isn’t the worst looking human. Nor my least favorite.”

“What high praise,” the Doctor muttered.

“Oi! Who’s fixing your ankle?” Nardole snapped back.

“Not you, apparently. You haven’t done anything since Rita came over.”

If the Doctor didn’t already have a few scrapes on his face, Bill could tell he would have had some from Nardole. As it was, Nardole swallowed his reply and began wrapping up the Doctor’s ankle. He didn’t seem too worried about being gentle anymore.

“Now how to get you back to the office?” Nardole asked, sitting back on his haunches.

The Doctor shook his head.

“Not yet; the game’s still going. I have to make sure my team wins.”

“Doctor,” Bill started with a grin. “Your team is up six-nil.”

“You’d be surprised,” the Doctor said with a raised brow. “In that Jagga Ball game, we were down by 5-apple points and still came back to win it. Albeit, we only won five-pear years later.”

Bill shook her head and grabbed onto the Doctor’s arm.

“You’re feeling better, I guess?”

“Yes.”

Bill nodded, pensive.

“Maybe when you’re better me and you could play sometime.”

The Doctor smirked.

“I thought I was too old for sports.”

Bill shrugged.

“You are. But I have to get back at Eric outside of work hours. Now, this Jagga Ball has spikes on it, you said?”

The Doctor sighed.

“Bill, we can’t exact revenge on Eric.”

“It’s not revenge, really. Justice…”

“Bill; I wasn’t finished.” He cleared his throat and smiled mischievously. “We can’t exact revenge on Eric without inviting a Judoon to play along.”


End file.
